Chapter 4 - THE BOY IN THE COAT
Leo was Luca’s six-year-old nephew.
His late sister’s son.
The boy lived in the east wing of the mansion, guarded around the clock. He was the light of Luca’s life, the only pure thing left in the Moretti family.
“What do you mean they took him?” Luca’s voice cracked like a whip.
“They hit the transport car,” Marco breathed heavily, holding a cloth to his bleeding head. “We were bringing Leo back from his piano lesson. A black SUV rammed us. Five men with rifles. Vanessa was in the passenger seat.”
Luca’s face went completely devoid of color.
The quiet, grieving son vanished.
The mafia boss emerged.
He reached under the mahogany dining table and pulled a hidden, loaded Glock from a mounted bracket.
He checked the chamber.
“Lock down the estate,” Luca ordered. “Nobody gets in. Nobody gets out. Put Mr. Santoro in the safe room.”
“Luciano,” Mr. Santoro said, his scarred face tight with fear. “Carlo will use the boy to get the proof your mother hid.”
“I know,” Luca said.
He turned to me.
“Emma. Stay here. It’s too dangerous.”
I stood up. My hands were shaking, but my feet stayed planted on the marble floor.
“They killed my mother, Luca.”
It was the first time I had ever called him by his first name.
He paused, looking at me.
“If they want what’s in my childhood home,” I said, my voice hardening, “they can’t get in without triggering the silent alarm my mother installed. It’s hardwired into the floorboards. If they break the door, the police will flood the block.”
Luca stared at me. “How do we get in?”
“We need the iron key. And you need me to show you which floorboards to step on.”
Luca didn’t argue. He didn’t have time to be chivalrous.
“Marco, give her a vest,” Luca commanded.
Ten minutes later, we were tearing through the dark streets of Chicago in an armored SUV.
The rain had started to fall, slicking the roads and blurring the neon lights.
I sat in the passenger seat, my chest heavy with the Kevlar vest, my fingers tightly gripping the rusted iron key.
My mother’s house was in a forgotten neighborhood on the south side.
As we pulled up to the curb, I saw it.
The small, blue siding was peeling. The windows were boarded up. The porch sagged under the weight of years of neglect.
It looked like a ghost.
But parked halfway down the alley was a black SUV.
“They’re here,” Luca whispered.
He killed the headlights and parked two houses down.
“Stay behind me,” Luca instructed. “Do exactly what I tell you.”
I nodded.
We crept through the overgrown weeds of the backyard. The rain masked the sound of our footsteps.
We reached the back door. It was severely splintered, but still closed. They hadn’t broken in yet. They were trying to pick the lock to avoid drawing attention.
I slid the iron key into the deadbolt.
It turned with a heavy, protesting clack.
I opened the door and immediately pointed to the floor.
“Step on the dark wood,” I whispered. “Not the light.”
Luca nodded.
We moved silently through the kitchen. It smelled of dust, mold, and old memories. I could almost see my mother standing at the stove, humming an old Italian tune.
We heard voices coming from the living room.
“Check the walls,” a rough voice ordered. “Vanessa said the maid hid the documents somewhere in this dump.”
I peeked around the corner.
Two armed men were tearing the wallpaper down.
Sitting on a dusty couch, clutching a small blue coat around himself, was Leo.
He looked terrified, his big brown eyes wide with silent tears.
“Hey, kid,” one of the men sneered. “Stop crying or I’ll give you a reason to.”
Luca didn’t hesitate.
He stepped around the corner, his weapon raised.
“Step away from my nephew.”
The two men froze.
They spun around, raising their rifles, but Luca was faster.
Two suppressed shots coughed in the dark room.
Both men dropped to the floor, incapacitated.
Luca rushed forward, ignoring the groaning men, and fell to his knees in front of the couch.
“Leo,” Luca breathed, pulling the boy into his arms.
Leo buried his face in Luca’s neck, sobbing quietly.
“I’ve got you,” Luca whispered, kissing the boy’s dark hair. “Uncle Luca has you.”
I stood by the doorway, my heart breaking at the sight.
Luca was a feared man in this city, but right now, he was just a desperate uncle protecting his family.
He picked Leo up and turned to me.
“We need to find the proof and get out before more of them arrive.”
I looked around the torn-up living room.
My mother had lived in fear. She wouldn’t have hidden something in the walls where anyone could smash it open.
She hid things where nobody would ever think to look.
I looked at the old brick fireplace.
“My mother hated the cold,” I said slowly. “But we never, ever lit a fire.”
I walked over to the hearth.
I reached inside the chimney, feeling along the soot-covered bricks.
My fingers brushed against a loose brick.
I pulled it out.
Behind it was a small, fireproof metal box.
I pulled the box out and wiped the soot from the lid.
“Open it,” Luca said, standing close beside me, shielding Leo.
I popped the latch.
Inside was a single cassette tape.
And a child’s drawing.
I picked up the drawing. It was made with crayons.
It showed a burning house.
And standing in front of the house was a man with a distinctive snake tattoo on his neck.
I flipped the drawing over.
On the back, in my mother’s handwriting, it read:
Emma drew what she saw. I pray she forgets.
I dropped the paper.
“I was there,” I whispered, panic rising in my chest as a repressed memory violently tore its way into my mind. “I was in the music room.”
Suddenly, the front door burst open.
Standing in the doorway, holding a shotgun, was Carlo Bellini.
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And on his neck was the exact same snake tattoo.
TITLE: The Tattoo in the Dark
